Tales of midnight
by DesertFoxCXVII
Summary: Vera remembers what it was like before the Crysis, but in the two hundred years following Martin Septim's sacrifice in the Imperial City, Tamriel has been crumbling into chaos. But she was content to live out her days among friends and away from civilization. But something just had to go wrong, and Vera and her oldest friend Ja'kaziir are forced to flee Cyrodiil for Skyrim
1. day terror

Tales of Midnight

Chapter 1: Day Terror

Vera stands in a brightly lit meadow, the sun shining warmly on her golden skin. Birds chirp as they dart through the air. The smell of flowers and earth fill her nostrils. A wide smile plays over her lips, showing off her bright white teeth. Spring had finally come to Cyrodiil. She had always like spring; it was so full of life and beauty.

The sun glints off of a small pond, surrounded by white birch trees. Vera happily strides over to the pond, a carefree spring in her step. A bird lands on her shoulder, filling her pointed elven ears with sweet music. She absentmindedly strokes the bird's head, while it chirps contentedly, before fluttering away into the branches.

With a slight sigh, the tall altmer kneels down at the water's edge, and dips her hands into the cool water, moving them back and forth. _Wait a minute... what is this? This isn't... I can't be..._

All of a sudden, the sky begins to darken, and as Vera looks up, she witnesses a shadow sliding itself over the sun, blocking its warming rays. The trees around her have become gnarled and blackened, leaves leaves shriveled and burnt; branches claw at the sky like enormous skeletal talons. The air becomes cold, her breath condensing in clouds in front of her face. A sickly warmth washes over her hands, in sharp contrast to the frigid air around her. She hisses, and withdraws her long slender fingers from the pond, while turning her face downward.

The pool of water had turned into a puddle of thick, hot, blood, steam rising from the bubbling surface. Vera gasps and stumbles back, wiping the blood off on her dress. It leaves dark crimson stains on the pure white of the fabric, like deep wounds on fair skin.

She can hear her heart, fast and strong like the beating of a great drum. The sound is loud, but not loud enough to drown out the cawing of dozens of crows, which are perched in the trees, like some kind of macabre foliage. Each one of their beady black eyes are fixed on her, unblinking, as if waiting to swoop down and devour her.

It hurts to breath now, a sharp, hot pain stabs her in the chest each time she tries to inhale, like there is a band of white how iron wrapped around her torso. Weakened by the pain, she drops to her knees in front of the pool, gasping desperately for breath. Several wracking coughs shudder through her body, and she covers her mouth with her hands. As she brings them away, she can see small spots of blood speckling her palms.

As she looks at her hands, her reflection in the blood catches her eye. A look of terror washes over her, and is mirrored in the pool. But it is not her face; no, this one is alien to Vera. In the places where skin is not cracked bleeding, or gone entirely, is is thin as a piece of parchment, adhering to the bone, lending the face a skeletal appearance. The air is thin, wispy and gray, with huge chunks missing; exposed bones shines through the bald spots, dotted with thin strands of rotted flesh. The eyes are sunken, bloodshot, and completely white, as if the figure was blind.

Vera opens her mouth to scream, her gaping mouth filled with blackened rotted teeth; but before she can let loose her shriek, pale arms burst from the pool, and drag her into the warm depths. Blood fills her lungs as she tries to breath.

Vera awakes from the dream, her body covered in a sheen of cold sweat, a terrified scream tearing itself from her throat. A burst of flame erupts from her hand and splashes over the stone wall of the cellar. Before Ja'kaziir is fully awake, Vera is curled up in a corner, shaking like a leaf in a storm, a dagger in one hand, and another ball of fire in the other. Her red eyes are wide in fear, her storm black hair disheveled and matted to her head with sweat.

Ja'kaziir regards with concern, still blinking the sleep from his eyes. He pads his way over to her cautiously, paws silent despite his enormous size. She turns towards his, ready to loose the ball of spellfire. The large khajiit stops in his tracks, fear of his own starting to bubble up. That ball of fire would turn him into paste if it hit.

Slowly, inch by inch, he advances until he is beside her. He reaches out and lightly grabs her wrist and redirects the readied spell. He studies her face as he does so; even twisted in fear, she is beautiful, at least by elven standards. She has high, sharp cheekbones, elegantly arched brows and eyes that, despite their color and sharp predatory quality, manage to look kind and inviting. But she looks tired; dark circles hang under those same red eyes, and her cheeks are quite gaunt.

As the khajiit studies Vera, recognition begins to seep into her face, and the fear slowly drains away. The dagger clatters to the stone floor from limp fingers, and the spell dissipates with a puff of oily black smoke.

Ja'kaziir lets out a huff of relief, and sits down next to his oldest friend, leaning his warm furry body against her slim frame. Two sets of crimson eyes meet, one filled with concern, the other with residual terror and what seemed to be embarrassment.

"I'm sorry I woke you," she states simply. Despite the ordeal she had just gone through, her voice is strong; it is light and feminine, but with a hint of predatory cunning, and a strong aldmeri accent. It was almost what you'd expect a fox to sound like if it were to speak to you. Her companion gives a dismissive snort, indicating his opinion on the matter.

"I know you don't care. But I do. Just because I can't sleep through the day doesn't mean you shouldn't," she mumbles with a small, slightly wry grin.

Ja'kaziir snaps his jaws in annoyance and gets up, padding over to his bedroll. Vera's eyes widen and her jaw drops, but she quickly replaces the expression with a pout and a scrunched brow. "But you were warm."

He turns his head back toward her, an expression on his face that could only mean, "You'll get over it."

Vera's eyes narrow, lips curling into a snarl. "Fine. You're a prick you know that?" Without waiting for an answer, she goes about packing up her things. The nightmare is still fresh in her mind, but vera knows that she has to move on; it hadn't been the first, and it damn sure wouldn't be the last. Ja'kaziir got them too, but he was much older, and they didn't effect him like they did her.

She shudders on last time, and mentally pushes those thoughts aside. _No use dwelling on in_

"Is it nightfall yet?" She inquires, before starting to pack up Ja'kaziir's gear as well. He pauses for a moment, and then bobs his head once in confirmation.

"Want to go for a hunt? This bottles stuff is getting stale." A feline grin spreads over Ja'kaziir's furry face, showing off an array of long sharp teeth.

"Right then," she says with a wide, wolfish grin of her own. "Turn around, I have to change." There is a stern look on her face while she wags a long slender finger at him. "And no peeking."

He huffs in mock disappointment, but turns around nonetheless, while Vera starts to pulling off her sleeping clothes, and dressing in her traveling clothes. First go on a pair of leather britches with laces up the side, followed by a tight wrap around her chest, and then a thin linen shirt. A padded arming coat goes over the shirt, and a pair of knee high booth made of soft calf skin go over her long slender feet.

The armor comes next; a pair of ornately embossed steel greaves encase her thighs, and a hauberk of dark ebony chainmail is pulled over her shoulders. Finally, she slips her hands into fur lined steel gauntlets that sport the same embossing as the greaves. Over everything goes an enchanted set of midnight blue mages robes that sport a deep hood. Lastly, a long slender saber is belted to her waist, and several pouches of different sizes are attached to her belt.

"Ok, you can look now," she smirks as she approaches Ja'kaziir. "Your turn." The enormous khajiit grumbles, but acquiesces and allows the rest of their gear to be strapped to his back and shoulders.

"Don't complain," she laughs. "We've been doing this for a hundred years. Get used to it." Ja'kaziir, opens and closes his jaw several times, in an obvious "blah blah" gesture.

Vera frowns, and reaches up and flicks him hard on one of his ears. The large huge khajiit jumps in surprise and yelps like a common house cat. Trying to recover his dignity, he snaps his jaws at her angrily.

"Don't even try," she teases while walking toward the double doors to the ruined house above. With a light push, the door creaks open on rusted hinges, and she pokes her head out into the cold night air. She looks around, red eyes glowing in the darkness. Even in the pitch black of a Skyrim night, she can still see every minute detail around her _Clear._

"Alright, lets go," she whispers, while climbing the last few steps out of the cellar. She opens the second door, and allows her friend to exit after her.

Vera pulls a map and a compass from a pouch on her belt. Unfurling it, she studies it with a pensive look on her face. "Helgen is to the east, and Falkreath is to the west. Where do you think we should go?" Ja'kaziir looks down the road in either direction, glances at the map for a moment, and then starts walking west.

"Well... that's settled then, isn't it?" she mutters under her breath, and falls in step beside him.

They are both silent as they walk, enjoying the cool night air, and the sound of nature around them. Crickets chirp, nocturnal animals rustle around in the undergrowth, and a wolf howls somewhere off in the distance. It is peaceful; no need to rush around and fear for their lives. It was a nice change from the panic of their flight from Cyrodiil. The Bruma city guard had no jurisdiction on the far side of the Jeralls. And even if they did, it was easy for someone to disappear into the wild province of Skyrim and start a knew life, especially for people like them.

Her revery is interrupted by a hungry grumble from her stomach, followed by a sharp burning pain deep in her chest. It passes quickly, thankfully, but the message is clear; they would need to find a meal soon, and preferably before they reach Falkreath. Ja'kaziir looks at her, quirking his head to one side quizzically.

"Hungry," she states simply. He bobs his head in confirmations, and continues to pad along down the road.

It is another hour or so before a small shack materializes from the mist. Vera eyes it warily, immediately noting the light shining from the windows. She looks at Ja'kaziir and holds her hand out, pumping it up and down twice, indicating for him to get low and stay where he was.

She drops to a crouch and slowly approaches the shack, moving from tree to tree, footsteps make almost no noise on the twig strewn ground. The smell of raw meat, wood smoke, leather, and steel fill her nostrils. _Hunters_, _bedded down for the night._

With the grace and speed of many years of practice, she runs the last few feet to the lodge and presses herself against the wall. A new smell creeps its way among the others: warm bodies. A savage smile seeps onto her face, bearing her sharp brown stained fangs. She makes a soft clicking sound, with her mouth, and after a few moments, Ja'kaziir materializes from the mist, moving just as silently as her. He sees her smile, and immediately knows they will be eating well tonight.

After meeting up at the wall, they slowly inch into the lodge, and observe three sleeping forms grouped together around a small fire. Strips of meet hang over the fire, evidently smoking over night. But the two red eyed figures aren't hungry for the meat; their attention is focused on the three supine figures. More importantly, the hot blood flowing through them.

The two vampires fall upon the hunters, mouths gaping unnaturally wide, long sharp fangs bared and ripping.

Author's note: please feel free to review this story and tell me what you think. I only want to grow as a writer and get better at what I do. Thanks for your patronage.


	2. Days long past

Tales of Midnight

Chapter two: Days Long Past

Vera sits next to the fire, leaning up against the furry flank of Ja'kaziir. She puts a cork in the last of the waterskins, which are filled with fresh blood. The three hunters are piled in a corner of the hut, their lifeless eyes staring into nothingness. One had his throat torn out, the other had four neat puncture marks on the side of his neck. The last had his throat slit and had filled their waterskins with his life's blood.

She sits for a few seconds, staring pensively at the corpses for a few seconds before stating matter-of-factly "They tasted good. Slightly sweet. Might be all the mead these northmen drink." Ja'kaziir grins and licks his lips, evidently agreeing with her.

"Well!" she exclaims, springing to her feet. "Time to go. We need to get to Falkreath soon, and these bodies aren't going to to burn themselves." A ball of fire forms in her hand, and she waits for her lazy friend to drag himself up off the floor and pad over to her. With a deft flick of her wrist, the flames belch from her hand and wash over the wood frame of the house. The dry boards ignite almost immediately under the extreme heat of the spellfire, and begin to burn hungrily.

Satisfied, with her handiwork, she turns on her heel and strides back to the road, the shack already completely engulfed in flames behind her. The night is brightly lit with dancing tongues of light, casting constantly shifting shadows on her and the ground around her. Her face is framed in the orange light, the angles of her face accentuated by the consuming flames; they make her seem regal, savage, dangerous and beautiful all at once. Ja'kaziir follows closely behind, a content look on his wide feline face.

They continue down the road, the glow of the fire shrinking into the distance and slowly becoming swallowed in fog. There is a new spring in Vera's step; she is fed, rested, with enough food to last through the next day or so. And on top of that, the meat and pelts they'd looted from the hunters would fetch them a good price in Falkreath.

The Falkreath east gate appears around a bend in the road. They both stop, and without being told, Ja'kaziir stalks off to hide way from the road. Vera take a breath, and sprints toward the gate.

"Fire! Fire! Guards!"

The two guards posted at the gate jump and place their hands on the hilts of their swords, obviously surprised and perplexed by the lone woman running at them and yelling about fire. She ignores their surprise and runs right up to them, and falls into the arms of one.

"Oh thank Stendarr! Theres a fire up the road! A house is burning, and its spreading to the trees! Please do something!" She pleads convincingly, playing the damsel in distress role with practiced skill.

The guards look at each other stupidly for a moment, before the one holding her asks, rather daftly, "a fire?"

Vera works to hide her annoyance, "yes sir! A fire up the road to the east! I think there were people inside!"

There is a pause while they try to work out what to do, when one turns to the other and says, with a voice full of none too convincing confidence, "Right, Gunjar, grab a couple men and check it out. I'll stay with her."

The other guard, Gunjar, runs off into the city, soon becoming lost in the fog and twisting streets. The man holding Vera sets her back on her feet. "Ma'am, are you alright? Are you hurt?"

"No sera, thank you. I'm just a bit flustered. I think I need to sit down for a bit," she whimpers.

"Of course miss. Come over here and sit by the fire, get the chill from your bones." He leads her over to a brazier that sits against the wall, and pull a chair up for her. "Were you traveling along, miss?"

"No... No I was traveling with my friend, but we got separated and I don't know where he is." She looks up at the guard, and helpless look on her face. "I'm so afraid." Several guards go running past them and up the road, buckets of water sloshing about in their hands.

"It will be alright miss, I'm here for you," he places his hand on her shoulder in a rather presuming manner. "What does your friend look like?"

Vera tries to hide her disgust, "He's a khajiit. About seven feet tall, looks like a great big jaguar. He usually protects me, but I don't know where he is..."

"A great big..." The guard drawls stupidly.

"Oh! There he is! She jumps up, pointing towards the road, where Ja'kaziir approaches cautiously. "Over here!" she calls, and rushes towards him, and throws her arms around his thick neck. He purrs happily at the contact.

"Shut up you dirty housecat. Don't get any ideas," she growls threateningly into his ear. "Oh I'm so glad to see you!" she shouts, loud enough for the guard to hear, who stands at the gate, dumbstruck at the sight before him.

As Vera and Ja'kaziir approach, he stammers several times, until he can get a hold of his tongue. "What is that?"

Vera pouts out her lip and puts on a hurt expression. "He's a khajiit, and hes my friend."

"But its... he's..." the guard stammers.

"I know he's big, but he's harmless. And if you'll excuse me, its been a long night. I would very much like to find a bed." She states, annoyance starting to creep into her voice.

Without so much as waiting for a response, she strides off, her admeri haughtiness taking over. Ja'kaziir trails behind her, leaving the dumbstruck guard behind. "Bloody mortals, they fall for it every time," she says with a grin and a light laugh.

It didn't take much time to get a room set up in Dead Man's Drink, despite protests by the owner, Valga, about Ja'kaziir. But she was tired, and Vera offered to pay double, so Valga eventually relented, "as long as he causes to trouble." She even agreed to buy the meat and furs they had picked up; Vera, now with a much heavier coinpurse, leaves he feline friend lounging next to the fire to explore the area.

As it turns out, the town had been built around a rather sizable graveyard, and as such, many of the businesses had names relating to death; things like Corpselight Farm, Grave Concoctions, Dead Wood Lumber Mill, and the inn Dead Man's Drink. The motif amused her, and with each new name she came across, her smile grew wider.

Vera liked this place; not many people could make a joke about death. Somehow, these people had managed it without being disrespectful. Plus, the coutryside was beautiful, and the near constant fog provides concealment. It wasn't only quaint and homey, but served as an excellent hunting ground.

Meandering her way along, Vera finds herself at the mill. She breathes deeply, residual sawdust tickling the inside of her nose, and exhales with a long sigh. The smell of the river is strong; a nice clean, cool sort of smell, and it mixes well with the scent of freshly cut lumber. Rivers were always pretty to Vera, especially when both moons are full; the two colors play nicely over the water, forming mesmerizing patterns of light. The soles of her boots make soft clunks with each slow, deliberate step along the boards of the mill.

Without thinking about it much, Vera finds herself sitting on the edge of the mill, feet dangling over the edge. Torchbugs blink happily at the far bank, dancing around each other with a strange choreography. Two foxes yip excitedly at each other, darting into view for a brief moment before disappearing into the brush again.

Vera begins to sing in a soft motherly tone, as if singing to a beloved child. And even though she sings quietly, the sounds drift out over the water, echoing off the rocks and trees. The words are full of both great happiness, and a deep aching sadness of days long past.

_The sun is a-setting_

_ The Days nearly done_

_ The moon is a-rising_

_ And the night time has come_

_ The troubles are going_

_ And the sadness is gone_

_ Sleep now sweet princess_

_ And your dreams will soon come._

Tears well up in Vera's large red eyes, as memories of warm arms and a loving face come rushing back to her. She can almost feel the kiss being planted on her forehead.

A large furry figure slides into place beside her, silent as a wraith in the night. "Why Does Veraninde weep? Sadness does not suit such a beautiful creature." The words flow from his lips, his rich khajiiti accent coloring the words in an almost artistic way.

Vera turns her face away from him; she hates letting him see her like this. She hates showing weakness. "I'm just remembering things. You know how it is."

Ja'kaziir tilts his head, a curious look coming over him. "These things... They are bad memories?"

"No... They're good, I suppose. People that I... Memories of people that I miss dearly," he voice quavers, threatening to burst into tears again.

"Ja'kaziir does not understand. If the memories are good, Veraninde should smile."

"I supposed you're right," she agrees with a sad smile. "Its just difficult sometimes, knowing you'll never speak to them again. No matter how much you miss them, they're gone."

The khajiit nods pensively for a while, and when he had chooses the precise words he needs, he speaks, "Ja'kaziir often feels this way. He has felt loss. But then he remembers that the ones he loves are always here," he places one great paw above his heart, "and here," and taps the side of his head. "Nothing can take that from Ja'kaziir. It matters not if they are near or far way; he always has them with him. And Veraninde must always remember the happy memories, and smile. Never weep, for it only feeds the sorrow."

They both sit for a while, watching the river flow by, and listening to the sounds of the forest.

"Come," he purrs, "The sun will arrive soon, and Ja'kaziir needs rest. He is sure she needs rest as well."

Vera sniffs one last time, wiping the rest of the tears away, and nods. Simultaneously, they rise and begin walking toward the inn, as the first pink rays of the sun appear on the horizon.

The last few hours of night are pretty unassuming and quiet. The two friends enter the inn together, without so much as a glance from Valga, who is asleep in a chair behind the bar. Vera picks up a few bottles of wine, leaving some coin and a hurriedly scribbled note in their place. With their usual silence the vampires walk into the rented room, lit candles already burning way. Ja'kaziir makes a questioning noise at the back of his throat, looking at the bottles of wine in her arms.

Vera looks down at the bottles, then up at her friend. He almost never says anything, and their conversation earlier had consisted of more words than he had strung together in the last moth combined. "Wine. To cut to food with when it gets stale. Makes it last longer, you know." She explains setting the bottles down on the night stand. "Now," a stern tone coming into her voice. "We can't go around killing people every night. We're trying to avoid the Vigilants. We have to make this last, got it?" Ja'kaziir nods solemnly, a dejected look on his face.

"Good," She smiles, and then reaches up and flicks his ear again. "And don't look so sad. We're out of Cyrodiil, a bed to sleep in, and lots of wine!" She picks up a bottle, uncorks it, and takes a long swig.

The large cat looks at her with an annoyed look, to which she rolls her eyes and offers him the bottle. "Just have a drink and enjoy our first night of peace in thirty years." He looks at her and shakes his head, but takes the bottle anyway, and takes three enormous gulps. Vera smiles and uncorks a second bottle, her sharp fangs shining in the dim candlelight.

"Bottoms up fuzzball!" she teases, and brings the mouth of the bottle to her lips, a seductive smile creeping its way onto them. She snaps her jaws playfully at her friend, and then upends the bottle, chugging away at its contents. Ja'kaziir makes a slightly disgusted sound, but drinks as well, albeit in a much more controlled fashion.

Their small party goes on for a few hours, as the sun rises outside, and the inn fills with patrons getting ready for breakfast. They sit on the bed, laughing and talking about past experiences. Well, Vera laughs and talks, while Ja'kaziir gives the occasional smile or make an amused sound.

As the morning continues, empty wine bottles form a small pile on the floor, a Vera's eyelids start to droop, her words slurring. Soon enough, her head drops, and she drifts quietly off to sleep. Ja'kaziir sighs, and gathers her sleeping form into his arms, and deposits he, fully clothed, into the bed, before curling up on the floor to sleep himself.


End file.
